Page 49 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
I have done everythin’ as I’ve been taught, everythin’ expected of me. And still, he keeps his distance.
The doubt took root before she could push it back. And once it surfaced, she could not seem to contain it.
“Or is it that ye daenae think I can perform me duties?” Her voice began to shake, her fingers trembling slightly on the handle. “Ye think I am too old, too plain, too?—”
She could not finish, Rowan moving before the last word left her lips.
His hand clamped around her arm and spun her to face him in one ruthless motion. Her back hit the door with a soft thud as his other arm slammed beside her head, caging her in.
The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, a sharp rush of air leaving her. She could not react at first, her pulse stuttering as it tried to catch up.
“Daenae speak about matters ye ken nothing about,” he growled low, his restraint clearly fraying at the edges. “This isnae some wee inconvenience I can set aside. Me people will suffer if I daenae act.”
His eyes burned into hers, dark and unyielding, and she could not look away.
“I will go,” he said, the words scraping out raw. “And I will see it handled. Do ye understand, Sorcha?”
Her frustration festered further, for he misunderstood her entirely. She understood him. That had never been the point.
Nay place beside him. Only distance.
But with him this close, her voice wouldn’t come. The heat radiating from his body licked over her skin like an invisible flame, filling the small gap between them until every inch of her ached to close it.
His eyes were no longer distant or guarded. They were hungry. And she could no longer deny that she felt the same.
His gaze dropped to her lips as they parted on a shaky inhale. When his eyes lifted again, they were darker, the scar along his cheekbone cutting sharp and wicked in the low light.
I need to push him away. I need to leave.
But those thoughts flickered, weak and useless. Because for the first time since she’d arrived at this castle, Rowan was not turning away. He was right there, burning, holding her at the brink of all the things she ached for so desperately.
She raised her hand without thinking, her trembling fingers reaching toward his scar, toward the mouth that had just spoken her name like a threat and a prayer.
But she could not touch him. His fingers wrapped tight around her small wrist, stopping her just short of contact.
The strength of his grip elicited a soft, broken sound from her throat. Her eyebrows drew together, the reaction instinctive, unguarded.
Why does he stop me, only to stand this close?
She expected him to let go, to back away as he had before, but he stayed there, his eyes locked on her lips. The air between them thickened, every shallow breath she took dragging his scent deeper into her lungs.
She swallowed, steadying herself as best as she could.
“What do ye want from me?” she asked in a harsh whisper.
Instead of answering, Rowan leaned in, closing the last scorching inch between them, and crushed his mouth to hers.
He was not gentle or careful. He was demanding, opening his lips over hers with a growl that vibrated down her spine. The moment his tongue swept into her mouth, she felt it in her knees. Were it not for his other hand gripping her waist, she would not be able to stand.
Her free hand fisted in the front of his shirt as he continued to ravage her mouth, any semblance of sanity leaving her in that moment. A helpless whimper escaped her throat as he nipped her lower lip, tilting his head to kiss her deeper, slower, until the only thing left in her head was the slick heat of his mouth and the thundering of her pulse.
And then it was gone.
Rowan pulled back abruptly, as though something in him had snapped tight again. His hand fell from her waist, though he did not step far, his breath rough and uneven.
She remained where she was, pressed against the door, her body and mind slow to understand what had just happened. Unease coiled in her heart as his face shuttered. Already putting space between them, even standing so close.
“This changes nothin’,” he said, his voice low, steadier than his breathing. He looked away, focusing on the wall on the other side of the room.
